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  • You broke your thumb climbing down a rope of sheets, out a boarding school window.

    I wore nothing but school uniforms or wackyvintage clothes from the Salvation Army for two years straight.

    We both wore saris to our high school graduation. Yours was real, and mine was a cast-aside costume from I Dream of Genie.

    In university, we each turned our dorm rooms into late-twentieth-century salons for earnest youth. Mine was thick with cigarette smoke. Yours, with sandalwood.

    We went on exhaustive walks, talking about how we should be able to change our names every day, all day, to suit our moods. Then we sat on your floor and made stuff.

    Because we wanted to. Because we could. Because we were (and are) determined to say "Yes" to life in every instance. Because we were (and are) wild, laughing children together.
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